


Long Way Home

by chillgamesh_the_swing



Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Established Relationship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic (sorta), Trans Male Character, if there's no found family what is the god damn fucking point, medical cw, post-OWB and DM
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-13 18:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21498340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chillgamesh_the_swing/pseuds/chillgamesh_the_swing
Summary: Six returns from a journey rather the worse for wear.
Relationships: Craig Boone/Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

Six staggered in the door of their rooms at the 38 and Arcade looked up at him from a couch in shock. He sprang to his feet just as Six's knees gave out and barely managed to grab him before he hit the floor. 

"Jesus, where have you _been_? We've been worried sick!" 

"Hey hon," Six managed to say hoarsely. "Long story. God, but you're a sight for sore eyes," he said as Arcade hauled Six to his feet and wrapped him in a fierce hug. "Ah-- easy on the ribs-- think I might need a doctor." He smiled weakly.

Arcade's eyes widened and he hastily loosened his grip. "That bad?" No time to lose, then. He led Six limping to the master bed, clumsily detaching pieces of metal plating from Six's gear with his free hand, then peeling off the leather jacket and undershirt beneath. Arcade bent to lay him carefully onto the bed and set about examining the damage with quick, practiced hands.

Broken ribs, certainly. Dislocated shoulder. Dehydration and exhaustion like he'd just run five days straight through the desert. A nice assortment of scrapes and bruises, and one rough gash down his leg that had been clumsily tied in a strip of cloth. How had he even made it into Vegas? Arcade glanced up toward the elevator outside the room, but if Victor had been there when Six came in, he hadn't stayed to chat. 

"Okay. Okay. You're going to be fine. Just need to get the painkillers and I'll get to work." He laid a hand on Six's forehead, lingering just for an instant, then turned to dig supplies out of his medical pack. When he turned back, he held a double dose syringe of Med-X, that he delivered to the least-bruised patch on Six's shoulder. 

Six exhaled slowly as the medication swept over him. "Swear I feel better already, doc. Must be your angel face, workin' miracles." He blinked, gazing up at Arcade with a dreamy smile.

"Shush, you know it's just the chems. Should be enough to knock you out for a minute, while I take care of the worst of it." Arcade's mouth twisted, but he forced himself to focus. He kept talking softly as he carefully slid his hands underneath Six's injured rib, seeking the break. "You reckless idiot, what were you thinking? Running off by yourself without telling anyone what you were up to or where?" 

There it was. Six's eyes drifted closed. His breathing slowed. As he relaxed, Arcade gave the displaced bone a sharp push, and it snapped back into place. Six twitched, but didn't cry out-- Arcade figured that was a sign the dosage was sufficient. He had been concerned about Six before; his life of dangerous derring-do gave him no shortage of experience with chems, but Med-X in particular developed a rapid tolerance and could become ineffective with little warning. 

He made quick work of the remaining rib and Six's shoulder, packing pillows and rags around his torso to discourage accidental movement when he woke. He'd have to wait for some of the biggest bruises to fade before trying to apply a stimpak there; else the internal bleeding could cause a nasty clot under the skin and run the risk of breaking open, or worse, pushing the broken bone into Six's lung. 

Arcade doused the cleanest rag left in vodka and set about cleaning the gash on Six's leg. When it was satisfactorily scoured he made a few coarse stitches to bring the edges of the wound together, then pushed a stimpak into the muscle below. Six tensed at the shot, and Arcade's heart dropped for a split second, but then he smiled and relaxed, still unconscious. The flesh began to knit together with the preternatural speed of the stims. 

Arcade's heart was still hammering, but he shook himself and returned to the vodka-soaked rag, dabbing at the smaller scrapes and broken bruises dappling Six's arms and legs. The methodical work was calming. His breathing returned to normal over long minutes as the panic subsided, and by the time Six's eyes fluttered open again he was steady. 

"Hey there, handsome. How's it feel?" Arcade said softly. Six grimaced in return. "Do you think you need another Med-X?"

"Nah," Six croaked out weakly. "I'll be okay. Where's the others?"

Arcade glanced toward the radio in the other room. "Boone was convinced you got hit by the Legion, he's been scouting around the river for days. Cass and Veronica have been running back and forth down the highway, looking for you-- she's furious by the way. Veronica," he added. "She'll probably kill you the second she gets here. Undo all my hard work," he said with a halfhearted chuckle. He held up a bottle of water. "Here, think you can get this down?" Six nodded. Arcade gently reached beneath his head and tipped it forward for him to drink. "Slowly, not all at once," he said. 

He set the bottle down and let Six's head drop back onto the pillow, running a hand through his hair. He stopped. There was another new scar, a big one, hidden just above the hairline. It ran all the way around the crown of his head. "Six... What the hell is this?" 

Six sighed. "I guess you'll want to know where I was." 

Arcade gave him an aggrieved look. "Yeah, I think I do," he said. "You should have told me where you were going-- I would have come with you!" He squeezed Six's hand. "I just don't understand why you didn't trust me." 

"I didn't mean to," Six said helplessly. "I promise, if I had been able to reach you I would have. It happened so fast, and then I was-- miles away. I'm not even sure how." 

"_What_?" The hurt on Arcade's face turned to thunder. "Six-- tell me everything, right now." 


	2. Chapter 2

_It started when I found that radio signal south of Primm. I was hoping it was coming from some good tech-- was a frequency unlike anything we've got running now, except maybe some of the weirder stuff out of REPCONN. I tracked it to an old drive-in lot where a pre-war satellite had come down and I thought it was Christmas come early, heh. I was just doing some spec study on it to see what we actually could use, and then I swear-- I swear-- I was going to bump out to Camp Searchlight and radio you. It had gotten late though so I made camp and figured I'd get back to work in the morning, only... Something happened in the middle of the night. The satellite started playing something on the old screen, it woke me up, then there was this flash of light and I guess I passed out. Or it knocked me out, I'm not sure. I woke up, it felt like-- hours later. In a hospital bed._

"Christ," Arcade murmured, laying down beside him. He kicked his boots onto the floor below, closed his eyes, pressing his chin to Six's shoulder, and slung an arm over his chest. Six smiled faintly and continued, staring up at the ceiling.

_Met these brainbots. Scientists. They'd been locked up in this old research facility since before the war. All of them were half mad, running wild experiments on-- on animals, on humans. Half the mutant animals in the wasteland came out of that lab. Cazadores. Nightstalkers. Things you wouldn't believe. While I was out, they... did some stuff to me. Pulled my whole spine and heart and even my brain out, but they didn't kill me. Replaced it with some cybertech stuff. Tried to turn me into another one of these brainless slaves. Practically robots themselves, until they notice you-- then they try to kill you. But for some reason, the bots didn't do it right, somehow my brain was still linked and I was totally conscious. They were shocked, hah, I started talking back and they barely knew what to do with me. Had to convince them I actually understood what they were saying. That was a whole process. Sent me on all these errands to fetch tech that had gotten lost in different parts of the compound. Place was a nightmare, though. Saw stuff in there I never wanted to see._

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," Arcade whispered, reaching up to touch his face.

Six leaned into his hand and took a deep breath. "Got some more water?" he said.

"Oh," Arcade said, sitting up to grasp at the bottle again. "Here you go." He helped Six drink, then lay back down, draped half on top of him but careful to avoid putting any actual weight on Six's injured side. Six crept his good hand around Arcade's waist and tugged him closer.

_Well. All that's not even the half of it. Finally I convinced them to put my brain back in, let me go. They gave me this piece of tech, some kind of transporter, I think they meant to send me back to the drive-in, but something went wrong, and I ended up on the cliffside by the river. Somewhere south of the Hope, I think, but I dropped into a swarm of fire gecks and had to run for cover... which is when I found this bunker. _

His expression darkened. Arcade just held him tighter, face buried in his neck.

_The Sierra Madre casino... I'd heard the legend, but it wasn't like that at all. Air's full of poisonous dust, it blocks out the sun and scrambles most radio signals. People who end up there either suffocate or turn into these feral... things. Not ghouls really, something else. Like angry ghosts. The poison does it, I suppose. And you know Veronica's old teacher she talks about sometimes, that Elijah fellow? He was there. And he's a monster. _

He scowled, then winced as the expression caused a long scrape on his forehead to chafe.

_I dunno if he was different when she knew him. Been trying to break into the place for so long, though, he'd gone mad, would do anything, kill anyone to get what he wanted. He had me brought there from the bunker, me and some others. Strapped explosive collars on us like Legion slaves. Glitchy pieces of shit, too, the remote frequency he was using to monitor them almost blew us all up anytime someone got near a radio. We... weren't the first. Dozens of skeletons in there. What the Cloud or the ghost people didn't get, mostly killed each other over the treasure, and him most of all. The bombs kept us in line long enough for old Elijah to put his plan together, crack open the casino. The whole time I was just thinking about making it through, minute to minute, keeping the others alive as long as I could. I don't think I really expected us to make it out in the end. Me and Christine. She was Brotherhood, been tracking the old man all over the Mojave, but she got trapped in Sierra Madre too. Couldn't talk, she'd been locked in a broken auto-doc down there that fucked up her voice box. Helped me, though. Knew some things about tech, and explosives, and we managed to get the collars off after the old man left us for dead. He got his, though. _

_Bastard. _

_Ghosts hit him. They swarmed the whole town like fire ants when he went to leave, ripped him apart before he took two steps out the door. Me and Christine got out, but got separated before we made it to the edge of town. I don't know what happened to her. When I got out of the cloud, damn transporter lit up. Figured it was my only shot of not dying in the ass end of hell, so I fired it off, and by some goddamn miracle, it dropped me right in the middle of town. It locates off of radio signals, I guess, must've picked up Radio New Vegas._

His voice broke. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he choked out. "Or Boone or anyone. Cade, I really thought I'd die down there." Six's eyes were wet. He turned to look at Arcade and they spilled hot tears sideways down his cheek.

"Shh," Arcade said, mouth against his shoulder, one thumb rubbing slow circles down the side of his face. "You made it back. You're here, you're safe. I've got you. Just get some rest." He kept whispering this over and over as Six let out one quiet sob, then another. "Shh."

Minutes passed while Six wept and Arcade murmured soothingly against him, their muted voices the only sound amongst the quiet of the old rooms lying heavily on them. He wept for the dead, and the living; for the madmen who had killed so many and forced those left to kill each other in turn, for the victims of the MT and Yangtze and the Sierra Madre, those who had stumbled into a venomous trap by accident and those who had been drawn there by pretty, wicked promises and found more, so much more than they'd bargained for.

He didn't cry much, at least not in the years since he'd left home, learned how to mix up the right chems from brahmin oil and xander root and do his own shots, since his voice changed and he'd noticed the first smattering of rough beard hairs on his cheeks-- and in the years since then, he'd gotten so used to putting on a friendly face and offering a listening ear, that he hardly spared a thought for himself as long as he slept and ate well enough. He passed the time helping where he could or ranging out into parts unknown, gathering bits of tech and machinery and things to trade, passing them along to someone who needed them. It was what he did. Tinkering, wandering, offering a helping hand. He'd seen no shortage of death, everyone in the wasteland had, but for the most part he was good at rolling up his sleeves, keeping busy, and trying not to think about it. Most of the time it was just as well; falling apart in the middle of a crisis never helped and like as not would get you killed by whatever had just gotten your buddy.

But now there was no stopping it. The quiet sobs he choked out would not subside. Arcade didn't know what to say, could only curl protectively around him, stroking his hair and face, pressing slow kisses to his skin while Six clung to his chest. Arcade's shirt collar was wet with the tears; Six's beard, normally trimmed round and combed smooth, now a ragged testament to over a month alone, submerged in poison and the dust of dried blood. His hands were raw and swollen, knuckles crusted with scabs. Arcade had sponged away the worst of the grime, but the rust of the Cloud was in his lungs, ground into his skin, beneath his nails, into the lines of his face and the soles of his feet. He wasn't sure he would ever feel clean again.

Finally Six heaved an exhausted sigh, his labored breathing slowed, and he seemed to relax into Arcade's arms. Arcade remembered the radio, knew he should let the others know Six was safe. He lingered for another long moment, then gave Six one last squeeze before clumsily hoisting himself up off the bed. He padded into the lounge in socks and sat down at the table, switching the ham radio to an NCR general comm frequency. "This is Dr. Gannon with message for Boone, Cassidy, and Santangelo, requesting all stations relay information at earliest convenience. Message is as follows-- He's back, please rendezvous at home base as soon as possible. Thank you."

He set down the transceiver as one after another, the comms stations around the Mojave pinged back a simple R-for-roger in Morse, dit-dot-dit, standard procedure so as not to flood the channel with noise. One woman's deep voice added, "Acknowledged, Dr. Gannon. Cassidy was here at Station Foxtrot this morning, one of our patrol should be able to catch her." She paused. "We're glad to hear the news."

"Much appreciated, officer," Arcade replied. "Over and out." He felt a twinge of concern. Six had certainly made no shortage of good impressions throughout the Mojave, but that said as much about his inability to say no as it did his helpful, determinedly optimistic nature. Arcade doubted that it hadn't made him plenty of enemies at the same time, and besides, it worried him all the more to see the broken, desolate state he was in now.

Arcade stood up from the table and stretched. His shoulders ached, whether in sympathy for Six's injuries or because he'd suddenly released tension he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he didn't know. His stomach growled too, as if finally paying attention to his body had brought up a flood of signals he'd been ignoring while focused on taking care of Six.

"Cade?" Six called from the other room. "Where did you go?"

"I'm here," he said quickly. "I called out to let the others know. Hopefully they'll be on their way back soon."

"Can you come back, please?"

"Of course, sweetheart." He hurriedly ducked into the kitchen to grab an apple and a box of Fancy Lads from the counter. Not the most satisfying fare, but he didn't want to attempt the effort of cooking a proper meal, not yet. He returned to the bedroom and sat down on the bed against the headboard, setting his food on the side table.

Six reached his good hand up to rest on Arcade's knee. "Don't want to be alone right now," he mumbled, eyes closed.

"Can't blame you," Arcade said. He placed his own hand over Six's and held it there while he gnawed through the apple. "I'm just glad you're safe." He dropped the core into a wastebasket and wiped the juice from his hand onto his coat, then shrugged out of it and stretched back out beside Six, leaning over him to place a careful kiss on the corner of his mouth.

Six smiled, eyes blinking open a crack. "God, but it's good to see you, Cade."

"You too, darling," Arcade whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters will be added as completed, currently planning at least 4 more.


	3. Chapter 3

They slept gratefully, for hours into the afternoon. The suite lacked windows to mark the passage of time by sunlight, but a few weeks before-- all this-- Six had fixed up the Nuka-Cola clock and hung it on the bedroom wall. When Arcade awoke, he could see it was well past five. He reluctantly dragged himself out of bed to the kitchen, and set about fixing them both a respectable dinner. Potato and bean soup, plain enough for Six's stomach still roiling from the cocktail of chems, enough salt to make it more than just a starchy goop. He even scrounged up a bulb of garlic to crumble into the broth, dropping the root ball into a jar of water; fresh vegetables of any kind were too valuable to go to waste, still; with a little attention it would regrow over and over.

Cooking, like chemistry, was the closest thing this bitter landscape had to magic, as far as Arcade was concerned. Hot food's one of the best things you can do for yourself, he could almost hear Daisy saying, and she was right; those little comforts were invaluable in the wasteland. Had been what gave him the will to get up in the morning many times. 

He ladled the stew into a pair of wide mugs and returned to the bedroom, where Six was blinking sleepily, peering up at him with affection like he still couldn't quite believe his eyes. "Hungry?" Arcade asked, setting the dishes down.

"Starving, love," Six said, and took Arcade's hand as he helped Six lean forward, tucking another pillow under his back. Arcade passed him a bowl and settled beside him with his own. They ate slowly, and Six realized this was the first fresh food he'd had in weeks. It was a far cry from the stale snack cakes and Cloud-laced potato chip sludge he'd subsisted on in the Madre. He felt his eyes watering again.

"Something wrong?" Arcade asked with concern.

"Absolutely nothing," he replied, blinking back tears. 

Arcade gave him a look that said he didn't quite believe that, but only slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close. Six leaned into him gratefully and closed his eyes.

-

Six awoke in the wee hours, still buried in pillows and Arcade's sleepy embrace (solid, heavy, reassuringly deliciously _real_\--), and he lay thinking silently. 

His chest ached, and not just from his injured ribs. He thought about the Empty, and those who were still there. The scientists remained trapped in their circular logics, no matter what he had said, he couldn't pull them out of the neuroses keeping them locked inside the Think Tank. He'd come close with Borous, but it seemed like for the instant he'd been aware of himself, the guy had seen something that frightened him so much he had chosen to dive back into the relative safety of willful ignorance. It could have been anything, Six thought bitterly. He'd seen enough hurt down in the old labs to know they all had no shortage of crimes to atone for. 

The lobotomites, the cyberdogs (_Rex_\--), the nightstalkers; none of them had deserved what that place had made them, bloodthirsty monsters he had no choice but to put down before they ripped him apart. Still, he half wished he had let them. It would have been easier than what had come after. 

He thought about the Madre, and his stomach twisted with guilt. Dean, cruel and selfish though he was, had been Six's responsibility, and Six hadn't been able to save him. He mourned for Dog-God, always clinging to each other and pushing each other away in one, now struggling to understand their broken past from a new perspective that was in many ways as fragmented as their old warring personalities. Six knew a little something about how that felt. The more he thought, the less sure he was that he'd made the right call encouraging them to fuse; maybe trying to erase the past would only bring them more pain and uncertainty. 

He missed Christine. He wondered where she had ended up. Hoped she might find her way back, now that the old man was dead. She had seemed adamant on staying to find him, before, but even if her mission was technically a success, he knew better than to hope she'd simply return to her old life with the Brotherhood so easily. And they didn't suffer deserters. 

The old man. His voice had sounded like Granddad's voice, and every word had grated on Six like a steel file. Same imperious dispassion, used to giving orders and not wasting time worrying about the consequences. Not a hard man, per se, but hardly affectionate. Bitter. The kind who would laugh in your face if you thought you could defy him, like he had seen you coming a mile off and let you try anyway just so you knew you were helpless against his will. Thought himself a god amongst men. Six couldn't imagine the old man as the patient, conscientious teacher Veronica had always talked of; had he really been different once or just seen fit to manipulate her like he did everyone else? 

Veronica. She didn't deserve this. He would have to tell her, and it would crush her. She deserved to know the truth, but hell if he knew how to put it tactfully. Dread welled up in his stomach, causing his breath to catch in his throat. The bedsheets that before had lent a gentle and comforting weight now seemed to grasp and twine at his legs, pulling him down into the dark; he shouted and kicked them away but he was still trapped, sheets turned to hands sealed in coarse black rubber and eyes, _the eyes_\--

And Arcade was there, hands on his shoulders, pressing him down to the mattress and calling his name. "Six! Six, it's me. It's Arcade. Sweetheart, you need to relax before you hurt yourself." 

"Cade?" Six blinked up at him, going limp as he finally recognized Arcade's face.

"Oh, honey. You're in worse shape than I thought," he said, reaching backward to switch the lamp on, then picked up his glasses from the side table beneath. He slid them on as Six reached up to grasp Arcade's other hand, still pressing down on his arm, and held tightly. "Nightmare, huh?"

"Not exactly. Was awake for most of it."

"Panic attack, then," Arcade said, his tone clinical, almost detached. His free hand made another quick, careful examination of Six's ribcage, and satisfied he hadn't dislocated anything else while thrashing around, he looked back at Six searchingly. "Not unusual for having been through a traumatic experience. Sounded like you were shouting at someone. Did you see anything?"

Six nodded wordlessly.

Arcade's face softened, hand returning to stroke Six's face, smoothing the lines from his brow and brushing his rumpled hair out of his eyes. "I've got you. The others will be here soon, and we'll get through this together." 

_I promise._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one gave me trouble lmao the next one should be up sooner


	4. Chapter 4

Despite the Foxtrot CO's words about Cass, Veronica was the first to arrive, bright and early the next morning. She had ED-E in tow, and Arcade guessed its sensors had picked up his message, locking onto the familiar signal; or maybe the Brotherhood had informed her-- they were probably (definitely) monitoring the unsecured channels and several of the secure ones that the NCR used. She stomped into the hall in heavy steel-toed boots and a long coat with broad padded shoulders; it wasn't power armor or scribe robes, but the resemblance was there. She wasn't bothering to stay undercover these days, since the NCR had extended its uneasy ceasefire to the greater Vegas area; besides, most of them were gaining recognition among the locals, especially whenever they were out with Six or were spotted going in and out of the 38. Her eyes flashed fire as she stepped into the room, then softened as she saw Six lying on the bed, still propped up in his cocoon of pillows, leaning on Arcade's shoulder with a book in hand. 

"Jeez, Six, what did you get yourself into this time?" she said, staring at him incredulously.

"Nothing too serious," he said, cracking a smile for her.

"Bullshit," she said, rushing forward to hug him around the neck. "You had us worried sick." 

"Aww, you do care," he teased, patting her on the shoulder. 

"Shut up," she said, straightening, a wide grin on her face. "So, who exactly do I need to go beat up for you?" 

Six wasn't smiling anymore. "Actually, Vee... I have something to tell you." 

She raised an eyebrow. "You don't sound like you're going to tell me I won the sweepstakes at the Ultra Luxe." 

There was no point in dancing around it. "I saw Christine. And I saw Elijah. He's dead. I don't know where she is now." 

The smile on her face fell, replaced by grief and shock. "He's what--" Beat. "You saw Christine? Is she okay?"

"She'd been through a lot," he said, falling back from bluntness to caution. "But she helped me. We got separated, but she's strong, she has a good fighting chance. I wouldn't be here without her." He paused. "When I figured out who she was, I told her about you, and she was so glad to hear you were doing good for yourself." 

Veronica opened her mouth, a faraway look on her face, then she closed it and refocused her gaze on Six. "And... Elijah?" she asked hesitantly.

"He... tried to kill us," Six said, wincing. "He hurt a lot of people and would have killed more. I'm so sorry."

"You-- What did you--" She shook her head. "No, you know what? I can't do this right now. I need some air." She spun around and stalked out of the room toward the elevator. 

"Veronica, _please_ just listen to me!" Six shouted after her, but Arcade put a hand on his arm. 

"If she's not ready to hear you, it won't help," he said. "Let her come back on her own."

Six sighed. "You're probably right," he said. "I just want her to understand-- I had to. He would have killed me, and Christine, and the others. He-- he wanted to destroy the whole Mojave." He looked up at Arcade searchingly, who furrowed his brow in concern.

"You didn't mention that part before," Arcade said. 

"I couldn't," Six confessed. "Was still in shock, maybe. Whole fully-expecting-to-die-in-a-pit thing kind of messes with your priorities," he said, dropping his gaze. 

"Mm." Arcade gave Six's arm a squeeze, then twined their fingers together in his lap. "You've always had a knack for defying expectations." 

-

Arcade was stepping out of the elevator in the lobby, having torn himself away to fetch more medical supplies from the Followers camp, when Cass thundered into the 38. Rex came bounding behind her and skidded to a halt at the top of the steps, panting.

"I'm gonna fucking kill him!" she roared. "Fucker thinks he can run off, no word to nobody, like we don't know if he's dead or alive?" She snapped her head up to look at Arcade. "And you!"

"Cass--" he started, but she cut him off, raising a fist.

"Letting him go disappearing left and right when you're supposed to be keeping track of him. I oughta lay you out right here." 

"Cass!" he shouted.

"What?" She glared at him, hands still clenched. 

"Chill. Listen, it wasn't his fault, he was... taken." Arcade placed a hand tentatively on top of her arm, just in case she actually meant to haul off and deck him. 

"The hell do you mean, _taken_?" The color drained from her face. "Boone was right-- Legion?"

"It wasn't Legion. Long story-- bad one." He let go of her arm. "If you go up right now, do me a favor and don't press him for details. He's still in pretty rough shape. I'll be back in about an hour, I can tell you most of it-- but it was bad." 

"Worse than usual?" Cass said, with a disbelieving chuckle.

"_Yes_," Arcade replied, his expression deadly serious.

"Okay, okay, I get it," she said, holding up her hands apologetically. "I'll take it easy for now. But you owe me some serious answers tonight, doc." Her face softened. "C'mere," she said, pulling him into a tight hug. "Watch yourself out there. Don't get stuffed into any lockers."

Arcade laughed despite himself. "I'll try," he said, giving a quick squeeze in return, then made his way out the door. 

-

Later that night, Veronica sat up with Six playing bottle cap checkers and singing along to the radio in an exaggerated off-key, determinedly avoiding any talk of his ordeal or her old friends. Rex lay sprawled over his feet, panting softly. On the other side of a wall, Cass and Arcade held solemn conference over a jar of moonshine at the kitchen table. 

"Christine. Vee's Christine?" Cass asked, frowning. 

"Yeah, apparently," Arcade said. "It sounded like she was at least as bad off as Six was." He shuddered. If what Six said was true, it was astounding she had recovered at all. A malfunctioning auto-doc could cut any number of vital organs to ribbons.

"Ugh. And we're sure this Elijah bastard is dead, yeah? I don't have to track him down and feed him his own nutsack myself?" 

"No, yeah, he was sure about that at least. Elijah's dead." It was cold comfort, but Arcade suppressed the vengeful impulse in favor of assessing more current risks.

"So what do we do with this.... _information_, then." She spat the word like a piece of sour meat. 

"I don't know yet," he admitted. "Veronica's not happy about any of this. She wants to go after Christine, but she doesn't want to admit it, because she knows it's no kind of plan, and she doesn't want to talk to Six about Elijah either. "

"Makes sense. She's been trying to follow his tracks for years, now it turns out he's not the ol' saint she thought he was, she's gotta reevaluate everything about what she was trying to do because she thought he would have wanted it, an' figure out how to separate his damn expectations from her whole identity." She scowled, gesturing with the jar of booze.

"Damn, Cass, you're awful perceptive when you're drunk," Arcade said, mouth twisting into an oblique grin. 

" 'S a gift and a curse," she sighed. "And you, you're funnier when you're drunk, doc." 

"Hey now, I resemble that remark," Arcade said, feigning indignation. 

Cass gave a low chuckle and stood haltingly, grasping the countertop for balance as she made her way to the fridge and retrieved a Nuka-cola. "Bottom line, we can't go off half cocked, chasing across the desert with no prep and no plan. I mean, Six doesn't even know exactly where this place is. Could be hundreds of miles." She cracked the cap open with the flat edge of her knife and threw her head back, downing half the bottle in one, then leaned back against the counter.

"You going to stop her, then?" Arcade said. 

Cass grimaced. "Like she'd listen to me. No, it'll take all of us to convince her to see sense, and I'm worried she'll do something stupid anyway." She took another swig of the soda.

"We'll have to be careful not to sound like we're ganging up on her," Arcade said. "And we need Boone here. You haven't heard from him, have you?"

Cass shook her head. "Not in a minute. He checked in at Camp Golf, what, three days ago? Shouldn't be more than a day away once he gets the message, but you know how he is, probably run the whole way back and not even stop to call ahead." She gave a wry smile, and Arcade nodded. For all the stoicism Boone put on, he sure thought with his heart a lot. Especially when it came to Six.

In fairness, Six did tend to bring that out in people.

"Huh. Now that you mention it," he said thoughtfully, "Six said something about radio signals coming from the Sierra Madre, maybe we could triangulate them and at least get a better idea of where the damn thing is."

Cass nodded. "Good thinking. Know one way or the other whether it's even possible for us to reach it. But..." She hesitated. "If it turns out it actually is?"

"I doubt it would do much good," Arcade said, shaking his head. "You know I love the kid, but we have to stay realistic about this. It's unlikely Christine would even still be there."

"Still." Cass looked unconvinced. "It feels like we ought to try."

"Well. Cross that bridge when we come to it, I suppose." Arcade looked down at the jar of moonshine, barely a swallow or two left in the bottom. "You want to finish this, or should I?" 

"Nah, I'm done for the night. Gonna hit the sack," Cass said, yawning. She made her way out of the kitchen toward the double room she usually shared with Veronica.

Arcade watched her walk away, then looked back at the jar. He shrugged to himself, and knocked it back. The stuff wasn't as bad as they usually pretended it was when they were ribbing on Cass. He stared absently into space for a moment, fidgeting with the cuff of his shirtsleeve, then finally sighed and rose from the table, dropping the jar into the sink as he left the room. He tried to convince himself there would be time to figure things out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i may have a extra special bonus chapter for yall not sure if i want to include it here or post it separately yet...


	5. Chapter 5

Boone arrived silently the next morning. He nodded to Cass, eating a bowl of scrambled grits and gecko eggs on a bench in the hall, and she jerked a thumb toward the bedroom where Six lay. Boone dropped his duffel bag on the carpet and moved like lightning to his bedside, folding his sunglasses into a coat pocket.

Six's eyes lit up over the battered book he'd been flipping through. He reached up to catch Boone's hand as he moved in close, wrapping Six in a furious embrace. Six leaned into him, holding on for a long moment. Boone bent his head over Six's and spoke in a low voice. "Don't you _ever_ do that again."

"Yeah, I promise, ya sap," Six said, pressing a kiss to his jaw. 

Boone glanced at Arcade, who rose from his chair at Six's bedside and knelt on the mattress next to them. "Missed you too, Cade," he said. "Get over here." 

He held out a hand, and Arcade slid into the tangle of limbs like coming home all over again. Where Six was raw with the smell of hard soap and grain alcohol, Boone had brought days of dust and sweat baked on by the Mojave sun, but none of them cared, hands in each others' hair and grasping at fistfuls of clothing. It had been well over a month since they'd all been together like this; it felt like it had been an eternity. Six returned his attention to Boone's neck, while Arcade wrapped an arm about his waist and kneaded the tightness out of his muscled shoulders with strong fingers. 

Boone hung onto Six's neck with one arm, face buried in his shoulder, letting out little groans that were almost muffled sobs. "I thought-- every day, Six, I was looking and I thought I'd see you locked in a slave pen or up on a goddamn cross. And I-- I wasn't about to lose you like that too."

"I know," Six murmured, "I know, you were ready to storm the fort by yourself, rip apart every bastard in there with your bare hands looking for me, I know you would. But love, Legion didn't get me, and I made it back, I'm here," he said, pressing his cheek to Boone's face. "Was thinking of you, you and everyone, every single second." He planted a row of kisses down Boone's neck and shoulder as the three of them rocked slowly together, wrapped around each other like they would never let go, like if only they could all hold on it would be okay.

A knock came on the half-closed bedroom door. "Hey, we all decent?" Cass said, not waiting for an answer before poking her head through the crack. "Delivery from the co-op just came in. Someone give me a hand with the boxes." She quirked an eyebrow at the three of them kneeling disheveled on the bed, faces flushed like embarrassed teenagers, but Cass only shook her head and withdrew.

"Right," Boone said, clapping a hand on his knee and sliding to the edge of the bed, but Arcade beat him to it.

"Nah, I'll do it. You take your time," he said, smiling fondly down at Six and Boone as he stood to retrieve his boots.

"Thanks, hon," Six called gratefully as he followed Cass into the hall, shutting the door behind. Six reclined back on the pillows and tugged Boone down beside him. "He's been fussing over me nonstop the last two days, bless 'im. Think we owe him something special later. He needs a chance to relax."

Boone grinned. "Sounds like you have something in mind."

"I just might," Six said, closing his eyes. "Meantime, you best come kiss me some more."

"Yeah," Boone said simply. 

-

By the third day, Six was hobbling around the suite under his own steam. He'd lain in an ice bath to soothe his inflamed side enough to risk another stimpak to knit the bones together, and Boone had brought agave ointment that he helped rub over the worst of Six's scrapes and cuts. The others still hovered about him, barely willing to let him out of their sight, but they amused themselves with games of pool and checkers and even dug up a few movies on holotape to play on the ancient crackling TV. Rex and ED-E seemed to have developed a reluctant truce, with and Rex padding around behind Six wherever he went and ED-E hovering overhead protectively. 

They were in the kitchen again assembling a late breakfast. Arcade was frying up pancakes and bighorn sausages, and Six chopped mutfruit at the long table. The radio crackled with Mr. New Vegas' voice, cheerfully relaying the morning news. Veronica was chattering enthusiastically about what she'd been able to decrypt from the fragmented records of Vault 22. Boone tried to look politely interested, but couldn't help his fingers drumming on the table, impatient for his morning coffee. The pot could be heard finally starting to perk on the stove. 

"They came up with some kind of miracle jelly-- it's basically a soup of undifferentiated meristem cells that react to a template, which is any other vegetable matter they come in contact with. Lets you clone just about any plant from a tiny sample, almost indefinitely."

Six looked up from the mutfruit. "I think I found some of that," he said.

Her eyes lit up. "No. _Way_! Where was it?"

"In a biological research lab at Big Empty," he said, looking a little apologetic. "Apparently they developed a lot of the stuff that ended up at Vault 22. Didn't manage to bring any of it back though, sorry."

"Huh. Still, I guess it explains a lot. The stuff wasn't exactly perfected before the war, so they probably stuck it in there as another _experiment_," Veronica said bitterly.

"Fucking Vault-Tec," Boone said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, I found logs that talked about having some trouble getting the cloned generation to reproduce," Six said.

"That's a common issue with hybrids," Arcade said over his shoulder, tossing another heavy pancake onto the growing heap. "Depending on what you select for, they're likely to come out sterile, and have to be propagated by cloning-- usually the old-fashioned way, though. Cuttings and such."

"No, it was more than that," Veronica replied. "They couldn't use a cloned sample as a template for more. It just didn't stick." She paused. "The plants would hold together for maybe a couple hours at most, and then they would liquefy. And then, uh, you don't want to have eaten that salad."

"Damn Vee, can we maybe save this for after breakfast?" Cass said, appearing and leaning on the doorframe. "It's a little early for the slime factor, dontcha think?."

Boone grimaced, and stood up, reaching for the coffeepot. "Yeah, really."

"Oh. Sorry." Veronica glanced down at the table, crestfallen.

"Well, pancakes are ready," Arcade said, spearing the last one out of the pan with a fork and depositing it onto a plate. He sat down next to Boone's empty chair. "Pour me a cup while you're over there, dear?"

"Already on it." Boone slid back into the seat, placing a mug of steaming coffee with milk in front of Arcade and another one left black by his own place.

"So thoughtful," Arcade replied, running a hand down his back affectionately.

The others shuffled back and forth assembling plates of food and cups of coffee for themselves, then settled back around the table. They ate in silence for a few moments, and then Cass glanced meaningfully at Arcade.

He straightened, dropping his fork. "So ah, Veronica," he began. "Wanted to check in with you on some things."

She raised an eyebrow. "My birthday's three months away, Arcade."

He gave a nervous laugh. "Actually, we need to talk about the other day, and make sure you're... feeling alright. That you," he cleared his throat, "aren't going to do anything unwise."

Six had frozen across from him, staring down at a half-eaten sausage.

"You've been acting weird for days. Gotta make sure you're okay, kiddo," Cass added.

Veronica gave her an annoyed look. "Oh, real nice. Just ambush me in front of everyone, why don't you."

He winced in embarrassment. "Didn't mean to gang up on you." Cass shot him a look, and he glanced at her exasperatedly. "You want to add something, Cass?"

"No, you're doing a stellar job of it," Veronica cut him off, scowling. "I don't feel ganged up on at all, doc. Don't treat me like a child."

"Give him a break, Vee," Boone said.

"Fuck off, Craig," she snapped, and his mouth shut. Boone crossed his arms and looked down at his own plate. It was like a steel door had dropped down behind his eyes.

Arcade reflexively placed a hand on his knee. "Veronica, come on. Can you please just talk to us?"

"You want to talk? Let's talk," she said, nearly shouting now. "We run all over the Mojave for weeks looking for Six, and the second he shows up it turns out he killed my teacher and lost my girlfriend, neither of whom I've heard from in years, didn't know if they were dead or alive, and I'm supposed to just get over it and do nothing!"

"I don't expect you to just get over it," Six said suddenly, voice hoarse. He started to say something else, coughed, and took a gulp of coffee before continuing. "You have every right to be angry. I should have done better. I should've--" He coughed again. "I don't know. Talked him down. Changed his mind."

"Honey, don't be ridiculous, you can't blame yourself for that," Arcade said with distress.

"I've dealt with crazier bastards," Six replied bitterly.

"Thought we were talking about me," Veronica said coldly.

Cass shook her head. "Only if you're going to actually talk to us." 

"Well, try acting like you're listening, instead of waiting for me to tell you what you want to hear," she said, standing up. 

"Veronica!" Cass grabbed her wrist, but she shook it off. 

"I'm going home for a few days," she said. "At least they don't give me any bullshit."

Veronica shoved her chair back under the table, stomping out of the kitchen. The others sat there in shock for a moment, then Cass gave a disgusted sigh and got up to follow her into the guest room.

"Need a hand?"

"I've got it," Veronica replied, tossing her spare set of clothes and a few other personals into her duffel bag.

"Really am just trying to help," Cass muttered.

Veronica stopped packing, and sighed. "I know," she said. "I just feel like-- I should be doing something, not sitting around here waiting for Six to get his shit together. But there's nothing I can do here, so I'm going to see what I can find."

"Fair enough," Cass said, rubbing her neck. "But Vee, just..." She shook her head in frustration. "I'm here if you need me, okay?"

"Yeah, alright," Veronica said, giving her a half smile. "I'm still gonna go now, though."

Cass nodded, and stood back as Veronica swung her long coat around her shoulders, hefted her bag, then walked out of the room. She heard the ding of the elevator, the thunk of the doors, then silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boooooooone
> 
> veronica centric chapter upcoming!


	6. Chapter 6

Veronica left Vegas by way of Mick and Ralph's, stopping in to fill up an ammo pouch for her revolver and buy a few snacks for the road. Ralph met her at the front counter, and politely but hurriedly filled her order, glancing over his shoulder every few moments.

"Everything alright?" Veronica asked him, raising an eyebrow.

"Hmm? Oh, sure, we've just got some friends over upstairs," Ralph said, giving her a broad smile.

"Well, I won't keep you, then," she replied, dropping the supplies into her pack.

As he waved her out the door, it occurred to her that his smile had not reached his eyes.

-

The southeast road would only take her so far, but she followed it out of habit as much as anything else. The sun was just reaching its midday height, and she adjusted the brim of her hat against the glare. She fell into a plodding rhythm, striding across the landscape. 

Why would Elijah act that way? He was always driven, sure, but a wanton murderer? 

At HELIOS, they had been at war. They were still at war, as far as people like Hardin were concerned. There was always something about acceptable casualties, she thought bitterly.

In spite of his brilliance, Elijah had been idealistic sometimes, reluctant to fall back when he could pull off some clever gambit bringing together a last-minute victory. He did occasionally indulge in those moments of drama. Not unlike Six, for that matter.

The whole casino heist story sounded that much like him, at least. And certainly, he was clever enough to pull it off. But the rest of it, the slave collars and cages and the murderous holograms, was inhuman. Elijah wouldn't do that. He'd commented on it more than once when the mainline Brotherhood used that sort of tactics back west. Counterproductive, he'd said, and insulting besides. 

She could almost hear him, explaining the inner workings of a Tesla generator, or the finer points of laser amplification. Then he would watch and listen as she repeated the steps back to him, interjecting the odd question only when she stalled, letting her reach conclusions on her own instead of handing them to her. It had made him an excellent teacher, and the complete opposite of Taggart, whose style depended on memorization drills and application of codified techniques. Elijah, on the other hand, would say that the methods were flexible as long as they brought you to the right answer.

Her stomach twisted.

She wanted to believe he had the best of intentions, that he saw a path back to glory for the Brotherhood and simply refused to let it go. If the NCR collapsed, the Brotherhood would be there to take over. If they could get over themselves long enough to begin letting outsiders into their ranks, it would be a golden opportunity. But the kind of tech in the Sierra Madre put her in mind of Old World nukes more than military kit. It would be a new apocalypse, exactly the kind of event the Brotherhood's entire way of life was meant to defend against. 

Exactly how desperate had he been, to drive him to that? Would Elijah decide that destroying the NCR was worth the deaths of so many ordinary people in the wasteland? Quite possibly. Was he insane enough to actually try it? Risk total extinction in the Mojave and the West alike, only scorched earth left behind? If he'd become as reckless as Six said, that might just appeal to him more. But would he abandon the Brotherhood's core purpose, for little more than revenge? 

It bothered her that she couldn't answer that question.

She needed to talk to Ramos.

-

By the time she reached the 188 junction, it was midafternoon, and she turned west toward the shadow of the mountains. Skirting the dry lake, she kept her head down, listening for movement from the anthill, but it was quiet. Not even a breeze to cut through the heat coming off the cracked earth. 

She ducked south so as not to approach the power station; NCR truce notwithstanding, there was no point in attracting their attention, and no need to lead them back to Hidden Valley. Besides, it was a relief to finally be in the shade, and she took a moment to rest, swig from her canteen, and gnaw through a few pieces of smoked gecko jerky. 

Christine. Her arms, her mischievous smile, the way she moved. Always sure of herself, quick, decisive. Veronica felt a twinge in her chest, thinking of the last time they had seen each other. Loyal to a fault, Christine was. She had hardly said anything after the mission briefing where they had told her she was leaving, just insisted that it was what she had to do for the Brotherhood.

Of course, they weren't officially together at the time. Taggart had come down hard on all the junior scribes in Elijah's absence, kept them busy salvaging tech and patching together the fragmented networks. The bunker was barely half operational when they fled there from HELIOS, and it had taken them months to upgrade all systems to a capacity that would support the whole Mojave chapter indefinitely. 

The Royces had thought it would be plenty of time for her to forget. 

She shook her head, and resumed the trek toward the Valley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nothing like avoiding a paper to motivate u to write fic


	7. Chapter 7

There were problems in the Mojave, but what else was new? Six had been rushing back and forth from the embassy to the Kings' school to the Westside militia post to McCarran for the better part of a week, Boone at his side. Tensions between outer Vegas civilians and the NCR had not abated; street fights between Freeside townies and NCR refugees were an almost daily occurrence, and the Kings were as yet uninterested in preventing them. The Followers' camp was full of the injured and sick from Freeside and beyond. Arcade was reluctantly getting ready to return there, hating to leave Six and Boone already but figuring he could do more good running triage there than following them around. 

When he left with Six that morning, Boone had given him a tight hug. "I'm watching out for him, don't you worry. Go save some lives, Cade." 

Arcade had given a helpless chuckle in response, and a quick, clumsy kiss to his cheek, their glasses swiping dangerously close together. "I'll do my best."

When he arrived back at the old fort, he was surprised to see Julie talking to an NCR officer in a black military police helmet. She glanced at him sharply, then turned away to keep talking. He tensed, and quickly ducked into the supply tent before the soldier spotted him. Whatever was going on, it didn't bode well. 

He busied himself stuffing med kits for a few minutes, then a doctor, not Julie but a young woman with close-cropped hair (Maria something, or maybe Michelle, a relatively recent arrival from out west) stepped into the tent behind him and spoke in a low voice. "Julie says you need to get inside. Here-" she handed him a wide-brimmed fishing hat with a draping cowl attached. "Put this on, and walk with me."

"Is she going to tell me what's happening?" he said, mildly annoyed, but he took the hat and followed her out of the tent, head down and pretending to scribble over a clipboard. 

She led him to the back stairway and up to the storeroom. "The MP out there is asking about you, and it's not cause he wants to buy you dinner. I don't know the details, but he said something about that courier guy you run with. Julie's trying to get him to leave, citing him Followers neutrality and all, but he's being pushy as hell." She shook her head. "Whole thing is really weird, officers don't usually come into Freeside at all, 'specially not in the bucket helmets. I'm surprised he didn't get beaten up before he got through the gate."

"Fuck," Arcade said. "They can't be serious." He blinked at her sheepishly. "It's-- Maria, right?" 

"Moriah," she corrected him. "Jonas. I got here just over a month ago, but we haven't had too many shifts in common, I guess."

"Sorry. I've been badly preoccupied the last couple weeks." He stuck out a hand, and she shook it. "Thanks for the help, Dr. Jonas. I guess I'll sit tight for now, take inventory or something." 

"Yeah, we need that," she replied. "Lot of call for the cold packs this week, and also the surgical tape. Julie'll probably be up to see you as soon as she gets rid of the cop. I need to get back to my patients." She gave him a wave as she turned and walked briskly back down the stairs.

Arcade looked around at the crates stacked throughout the room, and cracked the nearest one open, frowning. If the military police was looking for him, they must already be after Six. It wasn't a surprise that they would be; he'd always been a lot more friendly with Vegas locals than some of the officers liked, but Crocker normally kept a lid on them, since Six had helped him out more than once with a problem that couldn't be approached through the usual channels. 

The NCR on the front lines was a lot easier to deal with than in town. Most of the stations had one or two officers just trying to keep the soldiers under their command from getting bumped off in the night, and they couldn't afford to be too proud about accepting help, with the Legion just across the river. Six knew them, would stroll into camps with a wave and a touch of his hat, sniper rifle slung over his shoulder. He'd done a few favors here and there, enough to impress the rangers and the petty officers, and as a result most of them were glad when he passed through with Boone or Arcade or the others, trading salvage and gear, cooking up foraged food or chems around their fire, or crashing overnight in a spare bunk. Even the odd favor in return, like use of the radio when he was in the field for days at a time and needed to check in so the rest of them didn't come tearing down the highway looking for him. When Six had returned from the Sierra Madre, Arcade had counted on that rapport to get word to the others, and not only had the rangers delivered, but had gone out of their way to catch them. At the end of the day, the NCR was made up of people, after all.

People who, if the NCR came after Six, nevertheless would have to be considered a threat as long as they held to their oath of service. The problems inside Vegas were political, insulated from the day to day threat of raiders and radscorpions and wasteland starvation, and could sneak up on you if you weren't careful. Even if a man was happy to fight at your back when you were days away from civilization and stumbled into a gecko nest, it could be hard to tell where his true loyalties would lie back in the city.

Arcade sighed, replacing stacks of rolled bandages and braces in the crate and moving on to the next one. He'd been burned more than once, back west, getting careless with his words after one too many mutfruit screwdrivers. It was one of the reasons his advisor back at the university had suggested he ship out to the Mojave frontier, where there was more work to do and fewer seditious, disorderly, no-account (handsome, courageous, compassionate) revolutionaries to get him into trouble. 

Until now.

The door below opened, and he panicked momentarily, but it was finally Julie. "You picked a hell of a time to develop a work ethic, Gannon," she said, moving to the top of the stairs and folding her arms. 

"I'm sorry I haven't been on hand more," he told her. "Thought I might be able to take some of the pressure off here, but it seems like I made more work for you instead." 

She sighed, and shook her head. "I'm not about to rat you out. But if NCR comes looking again, the patients have to come first. We may not be able to protect you here."

"I wouldn't ask you to," Arcade said as he continued to shuffle through the crate, tallying the bottles of Rad-x and Fixer on the clipboard. "What exactly did they want to know?"

"Oh, basic details. If you were about, when you'd be back, how much time you spend here. Needless to say--" Julie looked at him reproachfully, and he had the grace to look apologetic. "I couldn't tell him very much." 

"Did he say anything about why Crocker would suddenly want me arrested?"

She stared at him. "You haven't heard." 

"What?" 

"Crocker's out. Recalled to the Sands. They haven't sent a replacement yet, so Pappas is running the day to days."

"She's probably taking advantage of the lack of oversight, then." Arcade grimaced. "Doesn't like how much freedom Six has on the strip. If she can't find something to charge him on, she'll harass us anyway. Either to make him leave, or provoke him, so she has an excuse to lock him up." 

Julie looked at him, impassive. "Fascinating. I hope you get all that straightened out, but in the meantime, when you're done with the inventory you can report to Alex downstairs. I need to get back to work."

The day passed quickly, every bit as hectic as he'd expected. Aside from the usual crop of drunks and junkies, there were a gaggle of townies who had stumbled their way there from some back alley knife fight bedecked with cuts and bruises. A Van Graff mook had limped in with a wide bandage bound around his thigh; the evil-smelling burn underneath looked like he'd been clipped by a plasma bolt, but he declined to say how exactly it had happened. A steady stream of wastelanders and refugees suffering varying levels of heatstroke, malnutrition, dehydration, snake and bug bites. Refreshingly straightforward, compared to the sort of problems Six tended to get them wrapped up in. There were rules for these at least. Check for bleeding and shock. Apply pressure and sterilize broken skin. Use stitches to conserve stimpaks. Fluids slowly for the first three hours, chew on strips of wild ginger to keep them down. Bind up sprains, but save the Med-x for broken bones. 

Finally, things calmed down, the patients who could make it back wherever they had to go had been sent on their way, those who couldn't were bunked down in the tents, and the doctors took turns keeping an eye on them while the others took a much-needed break. One of the guards had put together a big pot of stew, a little bland but thick and filling. 

Arcade sat by the fire with his bowl, barely listening to the babble around him. He missed Six and Boone already, but they would be pounding the pavement for a few more days at least. He wondered if they had already had a run-in with the MPs as well. Boone would sneer at them from behind his shades, and pretend they were beneath his notice. Six would turn the charm up to eleven, offer a handshake and a disarming smile, the picture of a perfect gentleman. He could put just enough of an edge under his words to tell them he knew exactly what they were planning and could pull the rug out from under them at any second. Sometimes it was even true.

It was dazzling, in all honesty. In another life, he'd be a legendary holotape star. Here he might just be a miracle. Sometimes his eyes would burn with the kind of fire that would make you thank him as it melted your flesh off. 

But at the end of the day, the mask came off, and not many had the privilege that Arcade did in getting to see what was underneath. 

"Cap for your thoughts," a voice came behind him. It was Moriah, and she sat down next to him with a bowl of her own.

"Oh, uh. Just thinking about some friends," he mumbled, turning pink.

"Must be some friend," she said, raising an eyebrow. "How's the soup?"

"Let's just say it's what's for dinner," he replied, and she laughed.

"Fair enough," she said, lifting a bite to her mouth. "I take it you're not drawing the feds down on top of us just yet?" 

"You don't have to worry. If they come looking for me again, I'll clear out," he said. "Wouldn't want to cause the Followers any more trouble." 

"Yeesh, alright," she said, drawing back. "I didn't mean it like that." 

Arcade sighed. "Sorry. I'm just-- Julie's not too happy with me at the moment, and she's right to be, but I shouldn't make that your problem." 

"Well, you did good work today, that ought to count for something." Moriah said, shrugging. "I'm sure she'll come around."

He privately thought that it would take a little more than one day of good work to make up for his several months of unreliability, but figured there was no use in pointing it out. He tried to change the subject. "So, you hear the sharecropper project found rads in their water supply? So much for NCR quality assurance, I guess."

"Yeah, I know. My girlfriend's a geologist for them, she can't stop talking about it." 

"Your--" He blinked. "Oh, haha. I was worried for a minute there." 

She clapped a hand to her mouth. "Oh, lord. You didn't think I was--"

"Trust me, it's a relief," he said, shaking his head. "No offense, I mean, I'm just very gay. And taken, actually.

"No, yeah, I get it," Moriah said. "You have any idea how many times I've been invited for a _fr__iendly drink_ by some underclassman who doesn't know any better? Hate to give anyone else that kind of headache." She laughed, and he gave a pained grin. "Anyway, should I assume that was the mysterious friend you mentioned earlier?"

"That's, uh, friends plural, as a matter of fact." Her eyebrows shot up, and he smiled in spite of himself. "There's three of us. One's a courier, I guess you've heard of him. Six doesn't run many package routes these days, but he tends to drag us along on all kinds of odd jobs, I don't know what you'd call it. Likes to make friends with everybody, listen to all their problems, and then will barely stop to rest till he's figured out how to help them. Sometimes for pay, but often as not he'll get it into his head to chase down a horde of raiders to rescue somebody's brother or dive into a toxic lake after some kid's toy car." Arcade shook his head. "Which is noble, I suppose, but it drives me crazy sometimes."

"And the other one?" Moriah asked.

"Boone? Mm... He likes to intimidate people, but he's a complete teddy bear underneath," Arcade said. "I mean, he's an NCR-trained sniper, and extremely good at what he does, you don't want to be on the other end of _that_ scope, but--" He paused. "He's spent a little too much time trying to keep it all down, I think. Takes a lot of work to get him to relax."

Moriah grinned. "Well gee, Arcade. How come Julie lets you have _two_ boyfriends?"

He chuckled. "She isn't happy about how much time I spend away from the fort, but Julie couldn't talk if she wanted to. My first year at the university, she was on and off with half the women in the graduate school. Long time ago, of course," he added. "Don't tell her I told you that. She'd kill me in my sleep." 

"Don't worry. Mama didn't raise a snitch," she replied with a conspiratorial wink. "So, soldiers and couriers, you sure go for the rugged types, huh?" 

"Hah, I guess that's a fair assessment." He scraped the last of the stew from his bowl and set it on the ground in front of them. "So what's yours like?"

"Oh, she's an absolute sweetheart. Natalia. Like I said, she works over at the sharecropper project doing soil analysis. She's been frustrated lately, used to mainly work on improving the soil to boost the crop output, but now they want her to spend most of her time cleaning up the water. You were right--" she rolled her eyes-- "it's NCR that ought to be making sure the water's safe by the time it gets there, not handing it off to the farms."

"Sounds like she's got her work cut out for her," Arcade said, and Moriah nodded. 

"Meantime, she's got a room by the tracks where I stay on slow nights. Isn't much of a cook, bless her heart, so I make sure she gets a solid meal on the regular. Nothing fancy, but we're doing pretty well for ourselves, all things considered." 

"Pretty nice."   
  
They fell silent, watching the flickering firelight and listening to the muted chatter around the camp. Behind them, they heard the weathered wooden gate clatter open, and a new group of wastelanders stumbled in, huddling together against the chill of the desert night. Moriah stared into space for another moment, then shook herself and looked at Arcade, nodding toward the triage tent with a wry smile. "Sounds like more work just arrived," she said, getting to her feet. "Better get moving."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mlm/wlw solidarity bay beyy


	8. Chapter 8

NCR TROOP GENERAL BULLETIN #370   
As of 9.14.2281 the following regulations are implemented, effective immediately.

  * Sentry rotation has been increased to double per shift orders provided below.
  * Off-duty curfew will be in effect nightly from 9pm-6am. This applies to all personnel assigned to Vegas HQ, McCarran, and associated postings. 
  * Leave requests extended beyond 24 hours will be limited to medical incapacitance and immediate family emergency and must be filed with the post commander. Other leave requests cannot be guaranteed for the requested time period.
  * Off-duty personnel not on extended leave may be required to report on call at any time. 

-

Late nights in Freeside were noisy, the muted roar of the strip mingling with music and chatter outside the Atomic Wrangler and never-quite-distant gunfire from its darkened alleys. They had seen Arcade at the fort at lunchtime; he had made Six promise to take the night off, and charged Boone with making sure he did it. They had obediently deposited most of the gear in Six's room at the Wrangler, changed into clean slacks, and headed downstairs in time for Hadrian's evening set. Boone leaned against the bar, listening to Six and Francine Garrett banter back and forth over a bottle of scotch. His own beer was getting heavy in his hand, and he finally gave in, thunking it down on the bar and pulling up a stool next to Six. 

"Heard Crocker got the boot last week," Francine was saying. "Guess he finally ran out Kimball's patience."

"Pity," Six replied. "He was a decent guy."

Behind them, Hadrian's set was ending, and he sauntered offstage to a healthy mixture of cheers and heckles that returned to simple applause as the band came out behind him. They struck up a bouncy swing; the applause died down, and the conversations resumed. 

It didn't last. Six paused, and looked over at Boone. "You hear that?" He nodded. The shouting from the street outside grew louder and closer, and two gunshots cut through the din. 

The door of the Wrangler burst open, and a man stumbled in, collapsing on the carpet. "Help!" he cried. "Troops after me, I didn't do nothing! Trying to lock me up." Sure enough, a squad of MPs in black helmets thundered up behind him, rifles at the ready. 

Two of the burly bouncers standing around moved swiftly to the doorway, blocking the troopers from entering. A third strode up and hauled the man to his feet, nearly lifting him off the ground. 

"Oh, fucking hell," Francine said, diving into the back room, out of sight from the counter. 

Six's hand flew to the laser pistol on his hip, but he didn't draw it.

"Sorry to disturb you folks," one of the MPs said. "That man's a wanted spy and saboteur. We'll need to take him in for interrogation."

"The hell I am!" the man protested. "You got nothing on me. I'm a private citizen and I got rights, dammit!" 

Francine emerged from the hallway carrying a heavy plasma caster in both hands, heels clicking as she strode across the floor. The bouncers parted to let her see the MPs outside. "Anyone making trouble for my bar, they deal with me. You an NCR citizen, sport?" 

"No," the man said, trying his best to look indignant while still being held up by the bouncer frowning down at him. "Name's Chester. 'M from North Vegas, was crossing down the tracks, pick up an order in at Crimson Caravan." He jerked his head toward the MPs. "_They_ said I look like someone what's been sneaking around McCarran, tryna haul me in for a spy, but I ain't been down that way in weeks. Ask Jules up at the Square, he'll tell ya," he insisted, shaking a finger at Francine.

"I know Jules," Six said in a measured voice, looking at the man to gauge his response. Francine glanced over her shoulder at him.

The man nodded emphatically. "Ask him! I do carpentry and handy work around the Square, known him for years." 

Six nodded once, and Francine seemed satisfied. "And you--" she looked back toward the troopers-- "You found him where exactly tonight?" 

"Er, by the north gate, ma'am," the MP said. "He ran inside and we had to follow him, he's wanted for interrogation related to thefts and information leakage at McCarran." 

"Well, it sounds to me like you boys got no jurisdiction here, " she replied, still holding the plasma caster toward the door. "I'd clear out before things get any more uncomfortable. Freeside doesn't belong to you, and the Garretts are not the only ones who don't appreciate NCR sticking their noses where they don't belong."

"I have to warn you, ma'am, we'll be forced to consider you as harboring a person of interest and obstructing our investigation. If you cooperate with us, this would be much easier for everyone." The MPs hefted their rifles.

Francine didn't answer, only returned his gaze steadily and flicked the safety off the plasma caster. It thrummed with energy. Six, the rest of the bouncers, and several other patrons stepped forward behind her, drawing pistols, shotguns, and other weapons.

The MP who had spoken opened his mouth to protest, but thought better of it, scowling instead. He waved to the rest of his men, and they marched off in the direction of the north gate. 

"All right, Jeff, you can set him down." Francine hefted the plasma caster onto her shoulder as she turned back toward the bar, a satisfied smile on her face. 

James Garrett walked out of the back room behind the bar, plasma pistol in hand. "What's the racket?" 

"I took care of it for now," Francine said. "Troops came in trying to arrest _that one_\--" she gestured to Chester, bent double and panting to catch his breath-- "and they were politely asked to leave." 

"I see I missed all the fun," James replied. "Okay folks, carry on. Next round's on the house for your trouble." The crowd gave a few hoots and cheers. James slid the pistol inside his jacket and picked up the bottle of scotch, pouring himself a shot and downing it quickly as patrons began approaching to order.

Francine plunked the plasma caster down on the bar top, leaning on the counter next to it, and turned to face them. "So. What do you boys make of all this?"

"Didn't like that much," Boone said. 

"Can't say I do either," Six agreed. "I doubt it's going to deter them for long, and when they come back, it'll be in force." 

"We'll need to meet with the other families in Freeside, maybe even some off the strip, see if we can't get a little extra protection around," Francine said.

"Mick's been talking about organizing a proper militia for ages," James added. "Maybe it's time to take him up on it."

"There's an idea," Six said. "I 'spect the King would have opinions about that, though. Whatever we come up with is gonna have to work consensus-wise." He stifled a yawn. "Well, you put the word out, and I'll be there. Meantime--" He glanced at Boone, who nodded. "Think we're going to crash for now." 

Boone tipped back the last of his beer and set the bottle down without a word. The Garrets gave them a wave as they climbed the stairs to Six's room. 

Shutting the door behind them, Six heaved a sigh and kicked off his boots. He looked up at Boone again. "After tonight, 's a good chance Freeside will consider the NCR," he said slowly. "If we want to stick around, odds are we'll end up in the middle of it. How do you feel about that?"

Boone didn't answer at first, shrugging off his jacket and sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I don't love it," he said finally. "But I go where you go. And I can't say I like how NCR's been treating their people lately. Dropping kids on the front line, no real gear, barely any training, no clue what they signed up for. 'S not right." He pulled off his shades and folded them, turning them over and over in his hands. 

"Mm." Six sat down on the bed beside him. "You didn't really know what you signed up for either, huh?"

"Got a point there," Boone said."Still. It was a choice, and I gotta live with the consequences." He stared at the shades for another moment, then dropped them onto the nightstand and looked back at Six. "Like I said. I go where you go," he said firmly. 

Six's expression softened. "All right," he said, "Cross that bridge when we get to it. We should get some rest for now, though." He stretched backward onto the mattress, tugging Boone down next to him and wrapping an arm around his waist. 

Boone reached back to flick the light off, and pressed a slow kiss to his mouth in the dark. He hoped it would be a good while before they got to that bridge.

-

Julie strode into the supply tent, a crate under her arm, and dropped it on the table. "Good news, Gannon. I'm reassigning you to the 95 outpost for the time being." She opened it and began sorting the pills and bandages inside onto the shelves. 

Arcade looked up from a stack of paperwork. "You're what?"

"You heard me. Alvarez is down a pair of hands, and you need to put some distance between yourself and the MPs, win-win situation, you can head down first thing in the morning."

He frowned. "You mean, you need to be able to tell them I'm somewhere else so they stop bothering you."

"And _you_ need to watch your tone. I'm trying to help you out here."

"Sorry," Arcade sighed. "I appreciate it, I'm just not sure it's the... best place for me to be. I'd rather stick close in case something serious happens."

"If you don't want the assignment, I'll find someone else, but I'm running out of things to keep you out of the open. It's either this or you're back on full duty no matter who's hanging around the gate. Speaking of which--" She glanced over her shoulder. "I've got to get going. The Garretts called a meeting, invited all the families in Freeside, and it seems like that includes the Followers. For now, at least." 

"What about?"

"Apparently, some troops chased a guy into the Wrangler last night. They ran 'em off, but Francine wants a parlay to talk over how Freeside should respond if the NCR keeps pushing."

"I'd uh... I'd like to come with, if you wouldn't mind." He straightened the papers into a tidy stack and snapped a binder clip onto them, looking up at her tentatively. 

"Mm. If I said no, you'd probably go chase down your courier boy and get him to bring you. I'm a little surprised he hasn't come to collect you already." She raised an eyebrow. "Well, get a move on." 

"Thanks, Julie. I really appreciate it," he said, rising from the table and following her out of the tent.


End file.
